Ever in our Favor
by Atashi Desu
Summary: After the fiasco of the 74th Hunger Games, the Capitol has an important decision: send Katniss back into the arena or let her live. President Snow has decided that martyring her would prove be counter-productive, sending the Districts into the very rebellion he is trying to prevent. So, the third Quarter Quell will go on as planned. Let the Games commence! SYOT: 7,9,10 males needed
1. Chapter 1: A Little Teaser

_Disclaimer (since I forgot to put this in at first): I do not own the Hunger Games, nor am I Suzanne Collins (although if I was, I would totally come on here and do stuff like this anyway, just to see your reactions!)_

_A/N: Welcome to my first ever Hunger Games fanfiction! I've read so many great ones on here (and several not-so-great, but who's counting?), and I only hope to live up to my predecessors! This is also (naturally) my first SYOT, so hopefully I can make it all work and do your characters justice.  
_

_In this world, I envision President Snow to be smart enough to realize that forcing Katniss and the rest of the Victors into a metaphorical corner is a Bad Idea, and will only cause dissension and rebellion. So, instead, things continue as formerly planned! So, tribute form is on my profile, and of course, here's a little teaser to get you all started!_

* * *

**Royal Valterris, District 1**

I don't make a sound as I process the president's last words. I can't. I can't move, can't speak, can't even breathe. All I can do is sit in stunned silence, frozen, as the words reverberate through my mind.

_No volunteers. _

No volunteers? How can we have a Hunger Games without volunteers? How can _I_ have _my_ Hunger Games without volunteers? This was supposed to be my year!

No. This _will_ be my year. I _will_ be reaped, and I _will_ be representing District 1 in the 75th annual Hunger Games, and a few short months from now, I _will_ be the victor of the third Quarter Quell!

Resolutely, I stand and head for the door, already perfecting the plan bouncing around my head.

"Where are you going?" I hardly even register my little sister's voice, her query only breaking through my determined thoughts after I'm already past the threshold.

"Justice Building." I say before slamming the door shut behind me, setting off on the most direct path towards the building that contains my only hope of fulfilling my dream, the one thing I've worked and waited for my whole life. All I can do now is improve my odds by any means necessary, and I mean to do just that. I've never done anything partway in my life, and I see no reason why this should be any different. I'll take out a thousand tesserae if I have to. Whatever it takes to be reaped as this year's male tribute.

I only hope no else es has the same idea.

* * *

_A/N: So there you go! That's not the _only_ twist to these games, it's only a part of it, but it's all you need to know to submit tributes, and I prefer to trickle the rest out over more chapters while waiting for submissions, lol. So! The form is on my profile, so head over and PM your tributes to me! I'll probably ignore any given by review (unless they're really, really good, I suppose) You can submit as many as you want, but please make them good! I don't want a bunch of perfect bowmen with Finnick-worthy looks and mastery of swordsmanship, knife throwing, martial arts, trap-building, and sumo or what-have-you. Make them _real_, and I'm more likely to pick them!_

_And, as always, I enjoy constructive criticism, so anything you can offer to improve my writing or my story, please tell me!_

**__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.  
**


	2. Chapter 2: Snow v Katniss

_A/N: An update! This is just a little insight into Snow's decision not to kill Katniss, and takes place when they had their talk before the Victory Tour._

* * *

**President Coriolanus Snow**

I suppose I could call it "quaint", this room I am standing in. Katniss Everdeen's study, in the home of the Girl on Fire. Yes. _Quaint._ And undeserved. She should be dead, not living a life of luxury in the Victor's Village. But Seneca Crane has been punished for that failure, and there is no point dwelling on past errors that cannot be undone. Now, I must is focus on the future and try to keep this threatening flame from igniting. And there were so many suggestions on how to do this, each carefully considered and rejected for hours in my council meeting.

"Kill her publicly and brutally!" Augustus Brooks has never been a particularly clever man, but his sheer brutality has always endeared him to me. Of course, we could never do this. Too many would see her as a martyr. A girl that was just trying to save someone; first her sister, then the little girl from 11, and then the boy she loved. Yes, _I_ know that she did not love the Mellark boy, that she was only trying to survive (and, of course, defy us), and perhaps many in the Districts know that as well (although I doubt if the mindless lemmings in the Capitol could tell). However, enough _do_ believe, and many more would be willing to put aside their disbelief to use the death of the poor, lovestruck heroine as a rallying cry for another uprising. No, outright execution is _not_ the way to go.

"I have an accident already arranged for her, all I have to do is give the word, Mr. President." Orsola Bogart, ever taking the initiative, would definitely have to be watched closely. She is clever enough to be a real threat. Perhaps I should arrange an accident for her sometime soon. I actually considered her suggestion for a moment, but an accidental death for the Girl on Fire? That just isn't poetic enough.

"I have the perfect plan, Mr. President. All we have to do..." a dramatic pause. Always the showman, Plutarch Heavensbee. "is move the eighth Quell forward a bit." He gave a smug smile then, so sure that his idea was the superior one. And I must admit, the idea was very tempting, and still is. Sending the Girl on Fire back into the arena the very next year after managing to defy the Capitol and escape the first? Yes, that is just about the _definition_ of poetic justice. In the end, though, I chose to forgo that option as well. Killing Katniss Everdeen _at all_ is not a good enough punishment. Death is too easy and over with too quickly. Best to save the eighth Quell for later. Poor Heavensbee looked positively heartbroken when I turned him down!

"Reap her sister." Now, _there_ was a sensible suggestion! Bix Garwood always is sensible, after all, even if he is quiet. I never have trusted the quiet ones; they always seem to be hiding something in those silent stares. Of course, as soon as I showed interest, everyone immediately began talking over each other, trying to voice their love for this _perfect _solution to the problem at hand (and, of course, offer their even more perfect improvements).

"Yes, she can die in the Bloodbath!"

"No, no, no, she must die slowly... make sure a big, unhinged boy is reaped and sent after her!"

"Another Tribute? No, that's terrible! It should be at _our_ hands! A mutt, or a trap... something involving fire!"

"No matter how she dies, it can't be in this year's assigned Quell. We should switch it with the eleventh! Executing her family when she dies will send the message better than anything! Then Katniss can watch her sister die before dying herself!"

This went on for some time while I debated with myself, only half-listening to their babble. It is a wonderful idea; destroying the one thing Katniss Everdeen treasure in this world. But for some reason, it all just felt _off_ to me. Finally, I realized what was bothering me.

"We can't kill the sister." Everyone stopped talking as soon as I spoke, staring at me with identical looks of astonished confusion. "All we would accomplish is to make an enemy out of her." Right now, she is trying to protect her sister at all costs. That little girl is the only reason the Girl on Fire is not picking up a torch and pitchfork to lead the charge. If we take that away, we may not survive the fallout. "I believe Ms. Everdeen will make a much better ally than enemy." It was a dangerous move to make, but out of every other option available, it was the _least_ dangerous. All that is left to do is to follow the road I have paved.

My ponderings are interrupted as the subject herself enters the room, and I offer her a clearly fake smile.

"Good Morning, Ms. Everdeen. How are you?" I can see her fighting a frown as she attempts to analyze my intentions and my out-of-place politeness. She and I both know who I am and why I am here.

"Fine. And yourself?" Her tone is cautious, forced civility, and I can clearly see unease despite her attempts to hide it. I love it.

"Oh, good, good. Now, let's cut the act." She tenses slightly at these words. "We both know why I am here, and it is just the two of us. Let us agree not to lie to each other, hm?" She nods warily. Good. "I know why you pulled your little... stunt, and you have started something very dangerous with it. You are going to put a stop to it." I give her my most intense glare as I allow my tone to go cold and threatening, and I see the fear trying to fight its way through the defiance in her eyes. "You are going to do everything I want, when I want it done, without question or hesitation. If you don't, If I even _suspect _that you won't," I pause and allow the chill of my harsh gaze to settle in on her. "then your sweet... little... sister..." I carefully enunciate each word as she stops breathing, her eyes widening. "will be in the next Games, and she _will_ die a horrible, bloody, _slow_ death. And then you will die."

"No-no... Prim..." I watch as she fights back tears, refusing to simply abandon herself to showing the weakness I know is within her. Then, she composes herself, drawing herself up determinedly. "Okay. I will do anything you want, and Prim will _not_ be harmed." There is a slight questioning tone in her voice as she looks me right in the eyes, and I nod at her.

"As long as you please me, your sister will not go into the Hunger Games, she will not be hurt, and she will not die from any Capitol-driven cause." At my confirmation, she visibly relaxes, nodding.

"What do you want me to do?"

I smile and she flinches ever so slightly. "You will be in love with Peeta Mellark for the rest of your life, and you will ensure that no one ever doubts that. You will marry him when you turn eighteen, you will bear his children, and the two of you will support the Capitol and the Hunger Games wholeheartedly."

Yes, the Girl on Fire will be a powerful ally, and Primrose Everdeen will ensure that.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! And, as always, reviews are more than welcome. Remember to submit your tributes using the form in my profile!  
_

**********************************************************__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.**


	3. Chapter 3: Mandatory Programming

_A/N: Welcome to another chapter! I suppose I might as well reveal the Quell twist at some point, so why not now? Also, gotta kill time with something while waiting for people to submit tributes... So far, only seven slots are taken, so you have plenty of opportunities!_

* * *

**Collen Bostain, District 12**

"Collen!" I turn around at the sound of my friend's voice, smiling brightly.

"Ian, there you are! I've been looking for you." He runs to catch up with me, gray Seam eyes crinkling with his smile. Ian never seems to be without a smile, and he never smiles halfway. His whole face gets involved.

"Wanna go toss a ball around for a bit?" He brushes his dark hair out of his eyes as he looks up at me with an almost begging look. I laugh, then shake my head.

"Sorry, Mom's expecting me home soon. Besides, we have that mandatory programming to watch, remember?" I roll my eyes, knowing that whatever it is is just going to be some more ridiculous Capitol propaganda. Ian clearly feels the same way, as his reaction to my statement is a snort.

"Yeah, whatever. Like it'll be anything interesting anyways." Then he shrugs and puts on an impish grin. "Well, I might as well watch it at your place, then. Maybe your mom will be nice enough to make me some snacks!" He turns and starts heading off towards my home, knowing I won't be too far behind. I shake my head, grinning myself as I speed-walk a few steps before falling into step next to him.

"Actually, I think Steffen's got some cake left over, if Kyra didn't eat it all this afternoon." My little sister really loves cake. Of course, it _is_ cake, and everyone loves cake. But she's also a vicious little sneak-thief when it comes to things that her brothers have and she wants, so she probably _did_ eat it all.

"Oh, yeah! His birthday was yesterday! I completely forgot." Ian lets out a wistful sigh. "Must be nice. Is he completely loving it yet?" Ian is, of course, referring to my oldest brother now being nineteen and officially outside the eligible age for the Hunger Games.

"I don't see how he couldn't. I offered to trade with him, but he didn't seem too keen on the idea..." I frown, as if I couldn't understand why, and Ian laughs. He has this big laugh that makes everyone around look at us for a moment before smiling and returning to whatever they were doing. Everyone loves Ian (it's impossible not to. His good mood is infectious!). "Anyway, Mom sent me to get you. She's fixed your pants and would really appreciate it if you would get them out of her way already." Once again, Ian laughs.

"You mean _Mark's_ fixed my pants, right?" I roll my eyes before nodding. My mother is the seamstress, but her arthritic hands have been getting increasingly worse for years, and my youngest brother has all but taken over the shop. It's funny, really. You'd expect that our mother's only daughter would have, but our sister insisted it was the stupidest thing she could possibly do with her life and that she would much rather run around roughhousing with all the boys in her class instead. Mark really enjoys it, though, and he's actually really good with clothes, so no one minds.

My thoughts are cut short when we enter my house and Kyra jumps out at us from behind the door, yelling at the top of her lungs. I jump about half a foot in the air while Ian covers his head with his arms as if expecting a blow. Then she starts laughing.

"Oh, I got you good. You should have seen the looks on your faces!" She wipes tears from her eyes as she laughs harder, and I immediately reach out and grab her long dark hair, twisting it around my hand and using it to pull her face close to mine. She stops laughing immediately and instead starts struggling to get away, but I'm bigger and stronger.

"Kyra, you are sixteen, not five. Grow up." I make sure not to yell, because I know the one thing that will make her stop listening is yelling at her. Instead, I keep my voice low and calm. When she nods, release her and smile. "Good! Now, go-"

"Collen! Ian! You're just in time! Get in here!" Mark's excited yelling from the family room cuts me off and I look toward the noise, frowning.

"Just in time for what?" I half-shout back at him as we all move to join him, Kyra rubbing her head where I pulled her hair a little too hard and Ian already reverted back to his natural state of joy. Mark just rolls his bright blue eyes (so different than everyone else's Seam-grey ones inherited from our Mother) at me and points to the television.

"For the mandatory programming, of course! It's going to be Katniss's wedding stuff, I just know it! I heard they did the photo shoot for the dresses yesterday!" He's gushing with excitement, and our mother puts a hand on his shoulder from the seat she's sitting in and gently forces him to sit down.

"Calm down, Marky." she says gently. "I'm sure the boys don't care about any of that stuff." Kyra gives an indignant snort, and our mother quickly amends her statement with an eye roll. "I'm sure the boys _and Kyra_ don't care about any of that stuff." Mark pouts a little, but nods and settles back to watch what I can tell he's sure is going to be the best thing the Capitol has ever aired. I chuckle a bit as I find my own seat and my mother yells to Steffen to "get your butt in here already!"

After a few moments, and much scuffling and pushing from Kyra and Steffen, we're all settled and ready as the program begins and Mark begins hushing us loudly. And, sure enough, we see Caesar Flickerman in front of the Training Center at the Capitol, talking about our latest Victor's upcoming nuptials. Mark gets even more excited when he introduces Cinna and the two of them engage in a couple minutes of chit-chat.

I think, if Mark had been born in the Capitol, he would grow up to be a famous designer like Cinna. I know that Mark would love to be like his idol. As it stands, though, we're here in District 12, and his love of clothing and fashion makes him more of an outcast and target than an idol. Throw that in with his tendency to get upset very easily and cry over things like harsh words, and you get the perfect target for every bully in the district. It still makes me mad now, even though Mark has long since learned to defend himself, and they have learned that if they mess with him they end up with black eyes and broken noses. But dammit, he's my little brother! No matter how old he gets, that's not going to change, and I was raised to always put my little siblings first.

Now they're showing Katniss in all the wedding gowns (Mark insists I have to call them gowns, as he thinks "dresses" is not an adequate word to describe them), and while the crowd cheers for their favorites and boos the others, Mark keeps up a steady commentary on what he likes and dislikes about each (and, of course, praise for Cinna's genius between each sentence). I start to space out, really not caring about wedding dresses and plans and really anything about this. Why did the Capitol insist on us watching this junk?

I tune back in when Caesar hollers to the crowd, "Let's get Katniss to her wedding in style!" Finally done with this stupid television program, I'm halfway out of my seat when Caesar tells us to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

I groan, remembering that this year is going to be one of those wonderful "special" Games that will undoubtedly be ten times more entertaining for the Capitol, and ten times more horrible for the Districts. Mark frowns, looking at our mother from behind his dirty-blonde bangs.

"But the Games aren't for months yet." He has a worried tone to his voice, probably wondering if the twist this year is that the Games are happening right now and everyone watching is going in, or something like that.

Our mother sighs. "Yes, but they have to read the card. It wouldn't be much fun for them if we weren't quaking in fear even more than usual for the next few months." She has a haunted look in her eyes, and I remember that she has already lived through a Quarter Quell. I wonder what is was, but I don't dare ask her. It would just upset her.

The anthem plays and President Snow takes the stage. I resist the urge to boo as him like the Capitol citizens did at the dresses. Barely. He's followed onto the stage by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box. I find myself wondering how they chose this boy. Is he related to someone important? Or maybe he won some kind of contest... the "Who's the Biggest Little Monster in the Capitol" Contest, where he had to send in drawings and letters about how he would torment the Districts if he were in charge.

After the anthem ends, the President begins to speak about the Dark Days that gave birth to the Hunger Games. He says that when the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years, the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, and it would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion. As if it weren't already terrible enough for us to lose twenty-three of our children every year.

He then goes on to describe the previous Quarter Quells. Despite my disgust, I find myself listening closely, intrigued. How could they possibly make the games worse for us? "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I shudder at the thought, imagining the poor children that had to go into the Games knowing that their entire district wanted them to die. Or at least that's how I imagine it must feel, even if you logically know that not every single person voted for you. Although, in the Career districts it was probably the opposite. Children were probably upset that no one had voted them to go and kill other children. Monsters.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

My sister's hands go to her mouth, and I have to force myself not to do the same. Forty-seven dead kids that year, and each one of those kids and their families would have had less hope than usual. The bloodbath alone must have had as many casualties as the whole Games in a normal year! And I'm sure no one stood much of a chance against the twice-as-large Career pack. How had Haymitch won against those odds?

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," President Snow says. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. This is probably going to be the highlight of that child's life, the little psychopath. Inside the box, we can see tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. There's centuries worth of Quells in there! How could the people that devised this even have come up with that many variances? I suddenly feel very cold as a terrible thought enters my mind. With that many options, what's to say this year's isn't something like having the tributes reaped from outside the age limit? What if Steffen really isn't safe this year? I clench my fists and force myself to breathe. Going crazy from worry about something that may not even happen will certainly not help anything, I tell myself.

The president removes an envelope clearly marked with the number 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. I expect him to pause dramatically, like our escort always does when reading the names, but he goes on without hesitation and reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, to remind the rebels that without the Capitol they truly have nothing, all of the supplies and weapons within the arena will come from Capitol sponsors."

I groan as I realize what that means. No one is getting anything without getting it from a sponsor. I look at Ian, and for once his face is covered with a scowl, and when he speaks it's with a darkness that is so unlike him that we all shiver at it.

"We're not going to have a chance this year. No one but the Careers are." In the background, we hear the president going on about some new rule where the sponsors can choose to pay extra to give their Tributes a gift before the game begins and have it in the Cornucopia, or pay even _more_ extra to have their Tribute start off with it.

"How are we supposed to beat that?" I exclaim, jumping to my feet angrily. "The Careers are going to come off the discs with weapons in their hands, and everyone else is going to have nothing! This is so unf-"

Then the president speaks one final sentence that stops my tirade mid-sentence. "Furthermore, this year there will be no volunteers accepted."

We all stare at the screen for a moment before a smile begins to spread across my face. "Well, I take it back. We do have a chance this year." I chuckle a little. "No volunteers means no Careers. For once, those damned districts will know what these games are for the rest of us!" Then I dissolve into laughter.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you have it! Don't forget to send in your tributes, please! And as always, thank you for reading and please review! THX!_

**********************************************************__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.**


	4. Chapter 4: A New Rule?

_A/N: Wellwellwell, here's another update! I'm mostly straining my brain right now trying to come up with stuff to post while waiting for enough tributes to be submitted to move on to the Reapings, so here's some behind-the-scenes decision-making from Mr. President and his lovely Council of Evil Totalitarianism!_

* * *

**Plutarch Heavensbee**

I wait anxiously for the rest of the Council to arrive, though I hide the anxiety by munching distractedly on the lush spread in front of me and sipping some red wine. I'm careful not to drink too much, though, since I need to have all of my mental facilities intact today. Suppressing a sigh, I drum my fingers on the table and allow my thoughts to wander.

My plan did not work out as well as I had expected. Actually, it did not work out at all. I was so sure that the president would all but pounce on it immediately, and I hadn't even bothered to work out a back-up plan! It would have been the perfect spark, and I had already had a lot of the endgame planned out with other allies. Now we'll have to start from scratch again.

I break myself from my ponderings as the last few council members meander in, chatting amiably as they take their seats and dish themselves a few "munchies", as my little girl calls snack foods. As always, when I think of my daughter a smile spreads on my face. She's the reason I'm doing all of this. I want to bring about a better world for her to live in, and my grandchildren after her, and my great-grandchildren after them. I had been having doubts and misgivings for years, but I was able to push it aside and ignore it until Clarisse was born.

I'll never forget the first time Clarisse saw the Hunger Games. She was very little, around two, and my wife and I were watching some recaps before settling in for bed one night. Clarisse came into our room asking for something (I never found out what she had wanted, but I figure it was some pre-bed munchie or other). When she glanced at the screen, however, it has just started in on the brutal death of that year's boy from six at the hands of the merciless girl from two. Clarisse stopped mid-word, staring wide-eyed and open mouthed as the boy's face was caved in by an increasingly-bloody mallet. Then, she started screaming and sobbing as it sunk in that she had just seen someone die. My wife and I promptly shut off the television and tried to comfort her, distract her, anything to make her stop crying. Nothing had worked, and she finally cried herself out a couple hours later and went into a fitful sleep.

The Games have never been the same after that night, though I never showed it until I found my fellow Capitol rebels years later. I could never again watch a Tribute being hurt or starving or dying without seeing my little girl's horrified face, then seeing _her_ in their place. How could we put these children's families through this? How could we put these _children_ through this? I have vowed to overthrow the Capitol and the Games every morning since.

Finally, President Snow himself joins us and we all turn our attention to the business at hand, and I force the thoughts of Clarisse from my mind for the time being.

"We've been receiving questions, Mr. President. From Capitol citizens and Districts alike." Orsola Bogart starts the forum, meticulously written and organized notes at her hands. She doesn't need them, of course. She will have everything memorized as always, but she makes them anyways. "They want to know if we will be having two victors from now on."

Last year's finale was a possible turning point for the rebellion that has been simmering for years. Our current plans for continuing that may be foiled for now, but we can still at least try to improve the Districts' lot, even if only by a fraction, while we put another into motion. Allowing both children to come home could be just the thing, and I've been thinking about it ever since Claudius Templesmith announced the Victors.

All that remains is to convince the president, and for that it will be all about how I spin it to him. I just need to make it seem to be too good an opportunity for the Capitol to pass up on, as well as too dangerous to let go of.

"I think we should give this some serious thought." I say, before Orsola can continue on with what I'm sure is an even worse way to handle the issue than the Hunger Games were to handle the Rebellion. She offers me a small glare, but I plow on as it I didn't notice. "If we continue this new... variance... then the Districts may begin to believe that they made the change themselves and that they have power. But that damage may have already been done, hasn't it? I mean, two have been allowed to win already, so the Districts already have that option to believe. If we just let every pair of tributes win from now on, they may start testing other rules, too. Maybe next they'll be refusing to send Tributes at all!" I shake my head, putting on a grave face.

"But then does that mean we must never allow two Victors again?" I continue. "If we do that, they will start to resent us for letting it slide for this pair, but not for others. They'll start asking why they should put up with essentially being told that _District Twelve_ is more important than they are! Even our most supportive Districts, like Two, would start to turn from us. Then they could very well become angry enough to bring about the very rebellion that we are seeking to prevent!" The others mutter and shift nervously; no one likes the idea of a rebellion (at least, none of _them_ likes the idea of a rebellion). I lean forward, placing my forearms n the table and sweeping my stern gaze over everyone.

"What we must do is find _balance_, as if holding a handful of sand. If we loosen our grip, they will blow away, but if we tighten our grip, they will leak out the cracks between our fingers. I have been thinking about this predicament for some time now, and I believe I have a solution. We can't allow two Victors every time, but neither can we only have one. Therefore, I believe the best course of action is to allow it only part of the time. We will have a new event added, a ceremonial coin toss performed midway through the games. I'm thinking once it's down to the final six, for continuity's sake. If it comes up heads, we allow two Victors. Tails, and only one may be crowned." I offer a small smile, relaxing my position and leaning away a little. "Of course, while we would _tell_ everyone that it is a random event, we would have it rigged to our advantage."

The others begin to chatter amongst themselves, discussing my idea, though President Snow's face remains impassive. I really wish that I could tell what that man is thinking, but I will just have to wait until he voices his opinion after the rest of us have thoroughly explored every facet, as he always does.

"But even that is showing the Districts that they can change things!" Orsola looks somewhat outraged, probably because I have stolen her thunder, but I find that I don't actually care in the slightest. She is a heartless monster who enjoys torturing district children, so if I have upset her, I count that as a happy bonus. "And if we let them do this, then they will just push for more! When does it stop? When they force us to allow both Tributes to win every year? When they force us to allow two to win whether they're from the same District or not? When they force us to end the Games entirely?!" She slams her fist down on the table and I have to fight a scowl. "No! We cannot let them have any favour! If we do that, they will eat us alive!" Now everyone else is getting quite agitated, and I will have to be even more convincing to get them on my side. This woman is not making undermining the foundation of this country very easy for me!

"Not if we handle it correctly!" I say, drawing them back in. I _cannot_ fail again! "If we tell them that they did this, then yes, they will go for more. Therefore, the simple solution is to make sure they know that this is not any of their responsibility. When we make the announcement, say it is because the Capitol citizens have been clamouring for it, that _we_ are the ones that want this change. Make sure the Districts know that they do not have any say in this decision at all. And most importantly, make sure we stick to our ruling. If we tell them that only one Victor may be crowned, we cannot let them finagle out another dual-victory like last year. We will make sure to have a contingency plan ready in the event that they try something like this again, and simply kill the instigator. And if we tell them that both may win, we have to go through with it and crown them both if they both survive to the end, without any tests or sudden redactions."

"But-"

"Yes." President Snow interrupts Orsola's objection, and I make sure to keep the smile off my face. I can't afford to give away my game yet, after all. "Yes, I see your point." He places the tips of his fingers together, forming a tent in front of his face with them. "This just might work to our advantage. We will, of course, make it almost impossible for any pair of tributes to survive to the final two. If they do have the option of winning together, we will throw even more against them than usual." I suppress a shiver as his lips twitch into a small smile, which I can't help but feel has a sadistic quality to it. "And then we can ensure that they will watch their friends die, right in front of their eyes." He nods to me. "This is a wonderful idea, Mr. Heavensbee. I will leave the remaining details up to you. Get to work immediately. We will make the announcement during the interviews."

He then stands, dismissing himself and leaving the rest of us to fine-tune the new policy. As he heads out the door, he looks at me and gives one final nod of approval before leaving. I fight the urge to shiver at the glint of admiration in his eyes. If only he knew.

* * *

_A/N: So, there you go. Once we're down to the last six Tributes, I'm gonna flip a coin (or just decide myself__ and say it's random,__ in true Capitol fashion, lol) and determine whether the Dual Victor Variance is in effect! Also, I always wondered why Plutarch and the others from the Capitol would rebel, so I decided to explore that a little._

_Anyway! As always, thank you for reading, and please review! And PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE submit some Tributes! You can submit more than one, I'm totally cool with that! And tell your friends to submit, lol!  
_

_(also, word of warning. I don't quite see the point of District 9 being the "grain" district, because we've already got the agriculture district over in 11. Why have two do the same thing? So, I'm gonna take a page from some other stories I've seen and have it be the "muttation" district. It even makes sense, if you think about it. The only real clue we have is a mention that a couple Tributes were dressed as bread in the parade, and muttations don't all have to be animals, do that? My theory is they designed a muttation grain that is resistant to disease and is tastier or something._

_So, yeah. Long story short: District 9 = Mutts. No grain. Mutts!)_

**********************************************************__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.**


	5. Chapter 5: Love and Hate

_A/N: Finally, here we are! District 1's Reaping! Never thought you'd ever see that, did you? "Finally we've made it to District 1!" Hahaha!_

_So, I have to apologize for taking so long to get this up. I don't have a computer at home, so I have to time it to when I can get to my parents' place and use theirs. I also have work (Boo!), so I've been forcing myself to write at least two pages in my little notebook every night, even when I really wanna go to bed, lol. I'm going to continue to do this, and try to get a new chapter up at least every Friday, but I apologize in advance if I miss that deadline. Sorry!_

_Also, please be on the lookout for typos, and tell me if you find one. I am terrible at these, and my fingers really seem to like to type things out of order whenever possible. I try, but I can't always catch every one of them, so I'd appreciate your help in fixing those!_

_Anyway, on with the story, and thank you so much for reading!_

* * *

**Royal Valterrus, District 1**

They only let me take twenty. So, out of literally thousands of slips, my name is only in twenty-seven times. Why didn't I plan for this? Why haven't I been taking out tesserae for years? I shake my head as if I can shake the negative thoughts right out of it. I can't lose faith, not yet. There's still a chance. That's why I'm here, in the square at five in the morning in my pressed white dress shirt and black dress pants, shoes polished and buffed to a stunning mirror-like gloss. Anything I can do to impress the Fates or God or whatever it is that makes this decision. As I look around the empty square slowly filling with the morning's light, I can't help but say a silent prayer.

_Please, whoever you are. I need this. Please choose me. Please pull my name._

I don't know how successful my desperate pleading with the unnamed masters of luck will be, but I don't know what else to do at this point. Everything I am depends on our escort saying my name this afternoon.

_Please pick me…_

* * *

**Daenin Touk, District 1**

Well, here I am again, picking up my father after a night at the Illyminati's. And on the morning of the Reaping, no less! You'd think that, especially on a monumental year like this where there's a real chance I might get reaped, my father would choose to spend the night before with his only child. But of course, the drunken idiot would rather spend even more of our hard-earned money that we really can't spare whoring it up with some of District One's more infamous prostitutes.

I sigh as I knock on the door, hoping that it will be anyone other than Luara that answers it. Don't get me wrong, Luara is a great friend and I like her well enough (not in that way!), but she always gives me the hardest time of all of them. I asked her why once, after an intense teasing session that she and all of her family got in on, and she just insisted that I am adorable when I get all flustered and start blushing. I think she's just a little sadistic.

Unfortunately, my luck is not with me today (although I hope this means it's saving itself for the Reaping later), and Luara's grinning face greets me as the door opens.

"Here for a pre-Reaping romp?"

Naturally, I feel the tell-tale heat of a blush rising in my cheeks, and I grumble at her, "You know I'm not, Luara." Sadist. She, of course, just smiles more and steps aside to allow me entrance to her home. This has become commonplace enough that we both have the routine down; I come over and rouse my (now hung-over) father, he grumbles and uses their bathroom and tries to freshen himself up with some cold water to the face therein, and I wait with Luara while her mother offers us breakfast. As I step past her, however, she nudges her shoulder against me and speaks with a low, sultry voice.

"You could, if you wanted to. I'll even throw in a friends' discount." I shoot her a glare, which is greatly undermined by my face's attempt to imitate the crimson roses in a vase on the table behind her (a gift from a customer, no doubt).

"Stop it, Luara, I'm not in the mood today." I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that I had phrased that in the entirely worst way, and of course she doesn't hesitate to jump on it.

"But you're _never_ in th—"

"Luara!" She must sense the seriousness in my tone, because she raises her hands in a surrendering motion.

"All right, all right. Not today, I get it. I'll be good." Her dark grey eyes look into mine, clearly attempting to convey her sincerity, and after a moment I sigh and nod, running a hand through my light brown locks. Just the fact that she left me alone so willingly shows her own nervousness about today. For the first time ever, either of us could actually go into the Games. Maybe even both!

Trying to soothe my nerves with the well-known routine, I quickly head into her family's cozy living room, where my father is snoring away on the couch without a care in the world. Seriously, how does he do that? I was so scared about today that I woke up at least five times last night, finally giving up around five and just getting up. I stand over him for a moment, watching him enviously, then I lean down and shake him roughly.

"Wake up!" I yell in his ear, and allow myself a small grin of satisfaction when he grimaces, arms flailing up to cover his head. Okay, maybe I have a bit of a sadistic side, too.

"Garrfmn…" he mumbles almost incomprehensively. I say "almost" because I know him well enough to understand his morning-speech; a stranger would have no idea what he just said. Instead of leaving him alone, as he requested, I shake him again and yell in his ear some more.

"Come on, it's morning! Get up! We have Reaping to get to! We're gonna be late!" Okay, I may have exaggerated, but it was worth it to see him shoot up off the couch in a blind panic, racing for the bathroom while attempting to navigate the room without upsetting any of the furniture.

"M'up! I'll be ready in a minute! Hurry up, Daenin, we don't have all day!" Then he's in the bathroom attempting to make himself presentable while I chuckle. It's really not a laughing matter, or at least it shouldn't be, but I find it funny all the same.

One year, he actually _was_ late, as I had decided to teach him a lesson and go to the Reaping without bothering to wake him. The Peacekeepers had found him while making their rounds as he was heading out the door, hair unkempt and clothes rumpled and barely on. He had managed to convince them that he really was on his way and had just overslept, and they let him off with a slap on the wrist (or possibly the face) and a warning. He's been rather neurotic about showing up on time since.

After taking a moment to enjoy my handiwork, I make my way into the kitchen with Luara, who had watched the whole thing from the doorway and shakes her head at me despite the mirth evident in her own eyes.

"Good morning, Daenin, honey. Want some eggs?" Luara's mother is scrambling up a few to go with the toast she has already made, and I nod. I only feel a little guilty taking their food, but I'm poor enough that I won't refuse, and she did offer, after all. She smiles at me, dark grey eyes so like Luara's crinkling, as she dishes me up. It is clear where from who Luara got her stunning looks; Olyanne Illyminati shares the same exotic dark skin and long black wavy hair as her daughter (though hers has touches of grey attempting to peek through at her temples), as well as a near-perfect petite body with ample curves in all the right places. I frequently catch myself staring at them and have to pull my eyes away while trying not to blush before they can catch me.

"Looks scrumptious!" Kiki, one of Luara's aunts, sweeps into the room (already looking stunning, of course) and winks at me, then looks toward her sister. "Oh, and the breakfast, too." Obviously, Luara has taken after her fun-loving aunt, and they both think that teasing me is the best sport in the world. I swear, sometimes they even compete, trying to one-up each other until I decide I've had enough and leave. I just don't understand it, though! Sure, I'm awkward around a family entirely made up of bombshells prostitutes, but what teenage boy isn't? And sure, I'm a seventeen-year-old virgin, but it really isn't _that_ funny.

Thankfully, Luara doesn't take the bait and start up a new game, instead getting her own helping of eggs and tesserae-grain toast from her mother and joining me at the table. "Leave him be today, Auntie, he's," she takes a small bite of her eggs and chews quickly while I silently beg her say anything about the mood. She swallows and continues after smirking at the look on my face, "apprehensive about the Reaping today." I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, then her smirk morphs into a full-blown grin. "We can have our fun this evening after we're all safe." I groan again and drop my head onto the table and the three of them laugh.

This is an entire family of sadists.

"What's so funny? Is Daenin acting adorable again?" That would be Luara's other aunt, Vivel. She may be the serious one of the bunch, but that doesn't stop her from joining in on the traditional family sport as well. I don't have to see Luara to know that my friend is nodding at her, mouth full of eggs-and-toast and eyes brimming with delight. Why am I friends with her again?

"Yes, but we're leaving him alone until _after_ the Reaping." Kiki talks around the food in her mouth, not caring that most civilized people would call it impolite. "He's quite panic-stricken over it." Trust Kiki Illyminati to make jokes about the Reaping.

"Yeah, yeah," I lift my head again, suddenly angry at them, "make fun of me. But just remember it _could_ happen this year. To Luara, too!" Once again, I realize the implications of what I've said a moment too late, and I immediately feel ashamed of my outburst. Luara's expression softens and she reaches out, putting a silken hand over mine.

"We all know that, Dae. But we also know that worrying won't make it any less likely." She smiles at me, a truly dazzling smile that makes my stomach do a flip. "So lighten up. No sense living if you're going to waste it fearing death!" She gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and returning her attention to her food, leaving an odd tingling sensation where it held me.

I sigh, closing my eyes and nodding. "You're right. Sorry." I open my eyes and look at her again. "I think I'll try that." She smiles brightly as she shoves the last of her breakfast in her mouth and stands.

"You done?" I look at my half-eaten food then quickly stuff my own mouth and nod, taking the hand she offers me and getting up. "Then let's go kill some time in town!"

"Bye, Dad!" I yell on my way out after swallowing my food. "See you at the reaping!" I allows myself a smile as I imagine his face when he shows up at the Square in a few minutes, still under the impression that he's about to be late.

Maybe Luara's philosophy is a good one, after all. She really is a good friend.

* * *

**Teldric Shimeryan, District 1 **

_A sickening crack fills the room, the sound penetrating every crevasse and every pore of my being as he falls to the ground. No! How could this happen? What have I done? Blank eyes stare into my own horrified ones, unseeing yet looking into my very soul with its accusing stare. "You're a monster," they say, "a sick psychotic brute." Blood slowly drips from his nose, each drop echoing sinisterly in my ears._

I wake up to the shrill beeping of the timer I had set before going to sleep last night. I don't have an alarm clock or a parent to wake me, like most other kids in my district, and I know I can't afford to oversleep on Reaping day. I reach over and turn off the alarm, groaning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I sit up. Sunlight is filtering its way through the dirty windows high up in the training center I call my home, casting an eerie glow over the dust-covered gym equipment I've pushed against the walls.

As I stand, sighing and shaking my head, I run through my morning routine in my mind, making sure I won't forget anything and have to return here until I absolutely have to tonight. Being Reaped and not being able to return flitters across my mind, but only briefly before I shrug it off. I have only had to take out tesserae the last two years, unlike so many of the less-fortunate in District One that have taken out several tesserae every year of eligibility (or the desperate eighteen-year-old Tribute Academy students that took out as many as they could this year). So, really, I have a near-impossible chance of being reaped and taken to the Capitol, forced to kill again.

Again. I shudder as the memory worms its way into my consciousness, threatening to take me over as it always does. I close my eyes and press my hands into them, trying to distract myself from the haunting incident. When I open them again, I see the shadows of the event everywhere in the gym, and quickly rush out of the room and into the locker room before they have a chance to overcome me.

I strip out of my sweaty clothes quickly and step into the shower, turning the water on. It's cold, since no one has paid for the electricity to heat it for years, but I don't mind at all. It distracts me, grounding me in the present so I don't get lost in the past. After standing under the icy stream for a few minutes, I grab my soap and scrub myself down, washing away the remnants of the nightmare that haunted me last night as it always does. I only turn off the water and step away when my skin is pink and feels raw.

Drying myself off with a towel, I force myself to run through the list again; shower, dress, eat the last of my bread, leave as soon as possible, wander around until the Reaping. Shower, dress, eat the last of my bread, leave as soon as possible, wander around until the Reaping. Shower, dress…

I continue to repeat it, a silent mantra to get me through the day, as I search the lockers for something relatively decent to wear. I find a pair of brown pants that have only been worn a couple times since the last washing and a black tee shirt. This is the best I'm going to do, so I pull them on without a complaint and then step into my shoes, kneeling down to tie them while reflecting on my lack of proper planning last night. We are expected to look our best for the Reapings and not reflect poorly on our district, but I'm clearly not going to be doing that this year. I don't even have clean socks to wear! I don't really mind, though. After all, it's not like everyone can hate me any more than they already do.

I grab my bag out of the locker I have claimed as my own and head out of the Training Center, fishing my hunk of bread out of the bag as I go and steadfastly fixing my eyes only on the door. Once I step out, I squint as I allow my eyes the chance to adjust to the sun's harsh light, then begin to make my way to the city center for the Reaping Day festivities.

As I go, I pass by several groups of District One citizens, all chattering excitedly about the coming event and all falling silent as they notice me drawing near before whispering to each other at my retreating back. It doesn't bother me so much anymore, though. I've grown quite used to the ostracizing and rumormongering of my fellow District One citizens in the last couple of years.

I pass one of the more popular Training Centers, which is filled with students putting in some last-minute training before heading off to the festivities and the Reaping. A lot of them will have been there since the sun rose, pressured by parents, friends, and teachers, and have probably been doing this every morning for the last several weeks. In a normal year, the week leading up to the Reaping plays host to a giant competition between all the students and is wildly popular among the other citizens of District One.

The winner of these games, as judged by the teachers of the district Tribute Academy and the Victors, will have earned the right to volunteer for the Hunger Games. With everyone desperate to prove themselves and holding nothing back, it's always a brutal seven days for the older students. The younger ones, though, are mostly just competing for the sport of it, and to set the tone for their future years when they compete for the right to volunteer themselves. I used to love this week myself, watching it eagerly as a young child and cheering on my favorites, and then competing in the junior games as a young teen. It's hard to believe that I would have been competing to volunteer the last couple of years if it weren't for the incident.

This year, while the event was held as usual, it was purely ceremonial. The younger ones competed the same as always, playful challenges with friendly opponents just looking to have a good time and showcase their hard work. The older ones, though, were rather bitter, using the competition to blow off some steam from not being allowed to volunteer. The ones that aren't eighteen yet did use the time to show off and impress the judges for next year, though, since they still have a chance of volunteering later.

I didn't go, of course, I just know all of this by listening to gossip. I haven't set foot in a gym since the incident, not counting the one that I currently call home. No one else can bear to be in there since the incident, though, so at least it's empty. To tell the truth, I can't really stand it either, but I don't actually have a choice; it's either crash there at night or stay out on the streets, and a grisly roof is better than no roof at all.

I stare at the Training Center for another moment, then clench my fists and move on. All those kids in there, training hard and planning on killing other kids make me sick, and it takes all my effort not to think of myself as one of the sick ones. I decide to make my way to the Square where the Reaping is held every year. I'll probably just hang around there until the ceremony starts, since there won't be too many people waiting while there's festive merriment to be had. At least if I'm alone, I can't hurt anyone.

* * *

**Luara Illyminati, District 1**

I think I've cheered Daenin up quite a bit, or at least distracted him from his depressing dark cloud he insists on hanging over his head. He's smiling and eating a syrup-soaked shaved ice cone that I treated him to. I don't usually buy such delicacies, but Daenin just seemed so down and, even though his blushing is so cute, I wanted to make him smile.

I lick my own shaved-ice-cone (lime flavored, one of my favorites) and look around, idly people-watching. A few of those I see are carefree and happy, celebrating the holiday that is Reaping Day as usual. Most are some level or apprehensive, ranging from looking mildly worried to flat-out panicking. Oddly enough, not all of those pacing anxiously and frantically chewing their nails down to stubs are those like Daenin; poor and terrified of being picked. A lot of them are the Academy students. They must have been planning on volunteering this year and now they don't know if all of their preparations will come to fruition.

Of course, not all of them could have volunteered anyway, considering that each district is only allowed one boy and one girl. But at least in normal years they would have had a decent chance of making it. Now, they all have some of the lowest chances of being reaped. I bet that not a single one of them had ever taken out a single tesserae before, while kids like Daenin and me have been taking out tesserae every year since we turned twelve. Neither of us has ever worried before, though; even if we had been reaped, a dozen aspiring victors would have gladly volunteered to take our places. There would have been competitions for the spots for the past week.

One group of Academy boys I observe, overplaying their rowdiness in an attempt to hide their apprehension, are shoving each other and generally acting as loud and obnoxious as possible. Then, one of them notices me and points me out to the others. They turn and wolf-whistle, a couple making gestures that most would call obscene. I just smile at them and run my tongue along my shave ice seductively. This, naturally, drives them wild. Daenin glances over at the noise, rolling his eyes as he looks back to me before blushing at my antics.

"Must you, Luara?" I know he's not necessarily _disgusted_ by my profession, but he certainly is uncomfortable with it. Which, by the way, is absolutely adorable. Normally I would tease him right now, lean over and whisper something seductive in his ear or press close against him. But today I don't push it, backing off instead. Daenin is nervous enough right now, and I want to help him, so instead I grab his arm and pull him off toward one of the other booths set up around town.

I don't know exactly how it is in other districts (although I do know the outer districts view it as the worst day of the year), but here in One, we go all out in the festivities for the Reaping. Booths with treats, souvenirs, and games line the city streets, and performers put on shows of music, dance, comedy, and drama. Children run through the streets with wooden swords, dodging through the crowds and staging mock battles. Adults go overboard on the spirits (although the respectable ones wait until after the cameras leave, and the less respectable ones are kept out of view in the back of the crowd) and rehash their favorite games, acting them out as the evening goes on and the drinks flow faster. Victors walk around in the morning being assaulted for recounting and autographs. My family and I get a lot of business this night.

I lead Daenin a few streets away to a booth hosting a knife-throwing game. Cardboard cutouts of past Tributes were set up varying distances from the front, depending on how far they'd made it in their Games, and contestants are given sixty seconds to kill as many of them as possible. Of course, District One tributes are never included unless their deaths were particularly disgraceful, like the boy a while back who lost his balance and fell onto the mines.

Usually, booths like this are monopolized by Academy kids showing off, and later on by drunken partiers, so I usually don't spend too much time on them. But they're always a fun way to kill some time, and maybe Daenin will feel better if he's doing something that can be seen as preparing in case of getting reaped.

I walk through the small group of teenage boys gathered there, swaying my hips subtly. Naturally, they part for me (and Daenin by default), and I offer them each an alluring smile. Living like I do and being raised how I was, I've become an expert on seducing and controlling males, as well as a good deal of females.

When we reach the counter, I push half of the pile of blades in front of Daenin, and then pick up a knife from my own pile. Daenin picks up a knife himself and the attendant starts the game, the big red numbers counting down the seconds while the cutouts move side to side jerkily. We then begin throwing the blades, laughing when they bounce off the target or sail right past them and whooping when they stick.

Sixty seconds later, we've killed half of the tributes and Daenin's mood is considerable improved. I can tell the Academy kids aren't impressed by our performance, though I doubt Dae could tell since he isn't as skilled at reading people. They don't say anything, anyway, for fear of driving me (and any chance they may have with me) away. Instead, they complement us on our natural, raw talent, and are sure to add that if we stop but their Academy more often we would be amazing. They would even be willing to give me private pointers!

I smile and thank them sweetly before leaving with Daenin, trying not to laugh at their obviousness. We play a few more games to kill time until we need to check in for the Reaping. Once that time comes and we start picking over to the square, though, all my efforts at calming Daenin begin to evaporate, leaving him biting his lip and wiping his sweaty palms on his simple black dress pants.

"Relax, Daenin. You're going to do fine and we're going to be laughing about how scared you were later tonight." I give him a winning smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he stops and scowls at me.

"This isn't some test at school that I can study for, Luara. I can't 'do fine.' So don't act like we're going to be okay if we're not!" His hands are clenched and shaking, and I sigh. This is going to be harder than I had hoped.

"I know." I use a soothing tone and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, I just don't like to see you so upset and not be able to do anything about it. You're my friend."

That does the trick, and his eyes soften. He forces a small smirk, one corner of his mouth lifting up. "All right." He takes a deep breath and gathers his nerves. "All right, let's just get this over with." I nod and link my arm with his, giving him a cheeky smile as we walk to the steadily growing lines.

Once checked in, though, we have to separate. Hopefully Daenin will hold it together; I really do hate it when he's genuinely upset. I offer him one last comforting squeeze on his forearm before joining my fellow seventeen-year-old girls one section in from the stage where our mayor and our ridiculous escort currently wait.

District One may be close to the Capitol, but we still think most of the people that reside there look like idiots. Take Althea Rose, our perky Capitol escort, for instance. Today, the plump woman wears a deep blue bob wig and royal purple contact lenses, and she's dressed in a frilly purplish-blue skirt suit. Add that to the fact that she has had her skin died a light blue color, and she essentially resembles an overgrown, exuberant blueberry. Who wants to look like a giant fruit? Is that honestly _attractive_ in the Capitol?

The mayor cuts my musings short as he steps up to the podium to begin his speech on the history of our great country and the glorious birth of the Hunger Games. He tries to make it exciting, but it's the same speech every year, and it's rather boring after the seventeenth time hearing it.

Then he gets to the truly exciting part: the reading of the Victors. One by one, they parade onto the stage to energetic applause and cheers, some waving and others raising their arms and cheering along with the crowd. Gloss, Cashmere, Blaze, Tienti, Rarity, and more make their way to the ornate chairs waiting for them. I zone out, since it's not like I don't already know all of our Victors; we're quizzed on them in school in the weeks leading up to the Games every year, after all.

I tune back in when Blueberry is introduced and takes her turn at the podium. She giggles into the microphone and greets us with her bubbly, high-pitched voice.

"Well, well, well! Happy Hunger Games, District One! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" Many of us clap some more, though not so much the ones like myself and Daenin. "And may I say how absolutely _proud_ I am to be here, in what is without a doubt the best district in all of Panem!" Cue more cheers due to district pride. She babbles on a bit more about how wonderful we are, making sure to mention every item she is wearing that she owes to us, before finally moving onto the actual reaping part of the Reaping.

"Ladies first!" she trills, and the tension on our side of the square is tangible as she reaches into the large glass bowl in front of us. After flailing her chubby hand around amongst the thousands of slips for several moments, she finally pulls one out and slowly unfolds it, leaning over the microphone and reading the name in a clear voice.

"Luara Illyminati."

Well. _That_ is unexpected. The cameras are searching for me, and the rest of the girls make it easier for them by looking at me and stepping away, forming a clear pathway to the center aisle. As they train their lenses on me and I see myself on the giant screen above the stage, I figure I ought to give the Capitol what is wants and I direct a winning smile right into the camera. Head held high, I saunter up to the stage, then turn to the crowd and stand proud, knowing that I'm going to have the sponsors eating out of my hands. I am totally going to win this thing.

* * *

**Royal Valterris, District 1**

I watch as the girl, Luara Illyminati, makes her way up to the stage. In that short red dress that reveals far too much cleavage, I can already tell that her angle is going to be along the "sexy goddess" line. I don't care too much, though. I know this girl, if only by her reputation, and she may be a great prostitute, but she won't stand a chance once the Games start and the killing begins. She won't be any threat to me at all, but I'll be able to use her inevitable pull with the audience for sponsor gifts in the Arena.

All the other girls are either sighing with relief, in the case of other poor girls like Luara, or crying out in anger, in the case of all the normal teenage girls. I find myself tensing up, reminding myself to not to hold my breath in expectation. It's time for the boys' drawing, and hopefully for my turn. As Althea moves to the second large glass bowl, digging her hand around the papers clumsily, I find myself praying to the Fates again.

_Please pick my name. Please pick my name. I _need_ this, so please pick my name._

She plucks out the lucky slip and returns to the microphone, painfully slowly unfolding the tiny slip holding my destiny. As she leans closer to the microphone to read it out, I feel sweat creeping down my back.

"Teldric Shimeryan."

No! No, I did everything right! It was supposed to be me! I clench my hands into tight fists and will the tears forming in my eyes not to fall. My life is over. I look over to Teldric, the murderer. Well, the good thing is that his life is over, too. I'm going to be rooting for him to die the whole time.

I hate you, Teldric Shimeryan.

* * *

**Teldric Shimeryan, District 1**

I hadn't even really bothered to worry about myself being picked. What were the odds that out of the thousands of slips in there, one of my nine would be drawn? This isn't fair at all. Why can't one of the dozens of boys shooting me hateful glares have been reaped? They _wanted_ to!

I force myself to walk toward the stage, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It just isn't fair. I don't want to go. I don't want to have to kill kids. I don't want to be a murderer, not again. As I walk through the crowd of hostile boys, they move away from me, not daring to touch me even though I'm sure they all want to just pounce on me and beat me senseless. I hear whispers as I pass, hushed tones calling me a murderer, a monster, a traitor. I fight to ignore them, to keep the words out of my head. It doesn't help, though, and I find tears leaking from my eyes as I mount the steps up to the stage. I don't want to do this again.

_I knock his blade from his hands easily, laughing. He's no match for me, and now everyone knows it. I am powerful, truly powerful, and no one could ever stand a chance against me. We may have all trained our whole lives for this, but I was clearly _born_ for it, for the battle. _

_I sneer at him as he raises his shaking fists. He refuses to back down, even though he's clearly outmatched. Well, he's not such a sniveling coward as I thought, I'll give him that. Then, my sneer turns to a wicked grin as I toss my own weapon aside. After all, there's no fun in beating someone with nothing with which to defend themselves from my blade._

_I launch my fist toward him, and even though he tries to dodge, the idiot still gets hit in the face. He's slow, weak, _worthless_. Why did anyone ever think he might be a match for me? I am his opposite: strong, fast, magnificent in my skills. I launch myself into a roundhouse kick, nailing him straight in the chest. The wind is knocked out of him and I advance on him, landing a quick series of kicks and jabs onto his body. He is whimpering and crying out now with each blow, clearly showing himself to be the lesser student, the lesser _man_._

_I love it._

_I toy with him some more, knocking him around the mat and landing small but painful hits everywhere on his body. He will probably be a giant walking bruise by the time I'm done with him, and no one will ever doubt that I am truly omnipotent in the ring. Finally, I direct a hard uppercut at him, all my impressive strength and weight behind it. _

_A sickening crack fills the room._

I wrench myself out of my memories and find that I am standing on the stage, shaking horribly while Luara holds her hand out to me and everyone stares at me expectantly. I realize I'm supposed to shake her hand, and quickly reach out to do so while tears stream down my face. This can't be happening.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your tributes from District One!" The mayor announces proudly, probably happy that I have been reaped and hoping that I am going to my death. There's wild applause, though it is only scattered in the eighteen-year-old sections right in front of the stage. As we turn to face the crowd and the cameras once more, I see hate etched onto every one of those faces, and all of them seem to be directed at me.

After a moment, the Peacekeepers escort us into the Justice Building and to our rooms where we will be saying goodbye to our families and friends. The only visitor I get is my father, come to tell me how proud he is. He has always pushed me to be a proper District One boy and volunteer for the Hunger Games. Now that I'm going into the Games, he is oozing with joy and spends the entire time he has with me telling me all about it and giving me last-minute tips, not even letting me get a single word in.

"I'm so excited for you, son!" He practically beams as the Peacekeepers open the door to make him leave, keeping himself under control only for the pretense of being calm and collected. I bet he would jump up and down, squealing like a girl, if he thought he could get away with it. Then he comes to me and presses something into my hand. "Don't forget, Teldric, you already know how to do this."

I look down at the object in my open palm once he's gone, and I see the golden gleam of _his_ pin. Had my father taken this from _his_ body? Had he even waited until it was cold before robbing the dead boy if his possessions? And why had he kept it all these years? To give it to me, I suppose. To motivate me to do the same again and again. I clench my hand into a fist around the small object, though I don't know if I'm angry at my father or myself or both.

In that moment, I lose all hope. I am going to die, or I am going to lose myself and become the sinister beast of my nightmares once again. Either way, Teldric Shimeryan is gone.

* * *

**Luara Illyminati, District 1**

I only get a moment of peace in my temporary room in the Justice Building before my mother and aunts come streaming in through the doorway. They have tears in their eyes, as if they've already written me off. So I smile at them brightly.

"Don't worry, and don't cry." I tell them, taking my mother's hands in one hand and Kiki's in another. "I know what I'm doing. I'm smart, beautiful, and compelling, and I know how to use a knife. I'm going to win, and when I return we're going to be the richest whores ever!" This gets them laughing, even if it's somewhat strained. I turn to Vivel, releasing my mother's and Kiki's hands and instead grasping my second aunt's.

"Luara…" she begins, and I just know she's about to give some objection or other, that she's already weighing everything in that serious brain of hers.

"When I get back, Auntie, we're going to be rich." I smile, knowing that that will mean a lot to her; unlike the rest of us, she doesn't want to have this life forever. "And then you can stop. I promise." I lean in and kiss her cheek as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. "So don't be upset. This is our chance. Okay?" She nods and I step back, ready to give my pep talk to one of the others. Before I get the chance, though, my mother gathers me in a warm embrace.

"I love you, Luara. I always have, and I always will." Before I get a chance to reply, she pulls a beautiful gem-encrusted bracelet out of her pocket. "I was saving this for your eighteenth birthday, but I want you to have it early. I want you to take it with you, as your token, to remember us by."

I'm struck silent as she takes my wrist and lifts it up to fasten the delicate chain around it. I swallow the emotion building up in the back of my throat and smile at her. "Thank you so much, Mom. I'll cherish it."

We spend the rest of our time recounting funny experiences and stories, and planning our future with all the money I'm going to win for us. When the Peacekeepers take them away, I don't let them say a single word, instead insisting that they keep going as normal and to trust that I know what I'm doing. I tell them I love them.

Then Daenin walks in and I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him tightly.

* * *

**Daenin Touk, District 1**

My heart stopped when my best friend in the world's name was called. I don't want to lose her!

As soon as the ceremony was over, I rushed to the Justice Building. I had to wait for my turn to see her, since family is always in first. I noticed a slew of men filing in and waiting around me, admirers of hers I assume. With Teldric's reputation, they certainly aren't here for him.

My name is called and I wipe my palms on my pants before going in and immediately finding myself wrapped in a warm embrace.

"I was hoping you'd come, Dae." She pulls back and smirks. "But I suppose a visit will have to do, instead." I choke for a moment, then roll my eyes.

"Of course, you've just been reaped into the Hunger Games, and you're making inappropriate jokes at my expense." I should be nervous and blushing, but I just don't have the energy right now. I needed all of it not to start crying. She smiles brightly, letting out a throaty chuckle.

"Well, I don't have much more time to do that for a while, you know. I have to make it last until I can come home!" She pulls back then, eyes searching my face. I bite my lip.

"D… Do you really think you'll come home?" I am almost afraid to ask, but I have to. She nods.

"I do. I mean, look at me," she steps back and motions down over herself. "The Capitol is going to love me, and this year sponsors are everything." She kisses my cheek softly. "I'll be home before you know it, Dae."

Her confidence is somewhat infectious, and I find myself returning her smile as I nod.

"All right then. I'll hold you to that, Luara."

We sit and chat for a bit about nothing of consequence until the Peacekeepers open the door to chase me out, and I give her a small wave as I leave.

Maybe, when she comes home and this is all over, I'll ask her out.

* * *

**Teldric Shimeryan, District 1**

After a while, the Peacekeepers come in again to escort me out. Luara is brought out soon after, then last of her visitors trickling away out the doors, and we are lead to the car that will take us to the train station. I don't say a word to anyone, though I doubt that they will mind at all. They don't like me anyway.

Once at the station, I get out and keep my head down as I walk to the train, steadfastly ignoring the cameras trained on me. I do my best to ignore the incident trying to overtake my thoughts, as well. I focus instead on the pain in my right hand as I clutch the tiny pin as tight as I can, its thin edges digging into the skin of my palm.

Beside me, Luara is flirting with the camera and probably earning herself a dozen sponsors with each seductive laugh, but I can't bring myself to care. Besides, chances are we're both going to be in the Alliance together anyway, so all her sponsors are going to help me.

When we're in the doorway of the train, they make us turn around and give the cameras a few more minutes. I force myself to look up at this point, a hard, steely look on my face. I don't want to be a monster again, and maybe if I try hard enough, I won't be.

* * *

**Luara Illyminati, District 1**

After the stream of my admirers is finally over with, I'm lead out of the room by the Peacekeepers. Teldric is already waiting, of course. He wouldn't have had many visitors, after all. I find myself studying him and wondering if anyone other than his father came. Perhaps the mayor showed up to gloat, but I think that's all that would have bothered. It's too bad, really, since he is rather cute.

The entire car ride is silence, as I can tell that Teldric doesn't want to talk. Right now, I need to focus on preparing for the cameras anyway. I'll spend more time talking to my district partner on the train, once I can corner him and there aren't cameras to watch everything. No sense in upsetting him and making him appear even worse than he already does to them, after all.

When we step out of the car, I instantly turn my flirt to full power, and the cameras are eating it up. Hardly any of them focus on Teldric as we make our way through the station to the train, and I like that just fine. Once we actually get through the crowd and onto the train, we still have to turn and give them some more time, though. There's no way I can pull their attention from Teldric now, since we're both standing side-by-side in a small doorway. My only hope is to look fabulous enough that no one will really look at him, anyway.

So, I give dazzling smiles and blow kisses, and when I glance at Teldric out of the corner of my eye, I find that he actually looks rather intimidating. He is looking straight into one of the cameras, as if daring the viewers to challenge him. Maybe he's going to do well in the Games after all. Maybe all he needed was to get over the shock of it, and now we're going to play the game and come out on top. I know only one of us can win, but we can at least help each other get there, and it will be a lot easier when I don't have to carry him half the way anyway.

I turn my full attention back to the camera in time for one last shot before we are ushered inside and the doors close. The train begins moving immediately, zipping us toward the Capitol at an alarming speed. Within a day, we're going to be there, preparing for the biggest, most intense game in the world, and I can't wait. This is going to be fun.

* * *

_A/N: so there you have it, the District One tributes!_

_A big thanks to nightfuries for these two, they're so fun to play with! And hopefully I've done them justice, of course._

_As always, thank you for reading, and reviews are appreciated! To all those that have reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story so far, I offer a huge thanks for all your support!_

_I still need some tributes, of course, so don't be afraid to send in a couple (especially some younger ones, I have a lot of 16-and-olders) ^_^_

**********************************************************__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.**


	6. Chapter 6: Force or Will

_A/N: Welcome all, to the Second Reaping of the 75th Hunger Games! Wooo!_

_I must apologize for it taking so long, I try to write when I can (even if it's just a paragraph or two a day), and I will get these out as fast as possible._

_As always, thank you for stopping by and reading my story, and don't be afraid to point out my mistakes! I can't correct them if I don't know they're there! (especially typos… I do way too many typos…) It is currently midnight here, and I'm sure I have made a lot of mistakes._

_ALSO! I am trying to use UK spelling for the Capitolites, and American for the Districts, but I don't always catch when I've mixed them up, so if you notice, please point it out!_

_(also, "Schuyler" is pronounced like "Skyler", I know I always try to pronounce it "Shoo-ler" and the joke makes no sense that way, lol)_

_Thanks a bunch, and on with the chapter! _

* * *

**Oph Neptune, District 2**

The sun, casts long shadows before me as it begins to rise, barely peeking above the horizon. My lungs burn with the cold air, but it doesn't bother me. I keep putting one foot in front of the other, determined to go as fast and far as I can, and then to go faster and farther. The only way to improve yourself is to push yourself past your limits, and I always make is my main goal in life to be the best. I already have near-perfect speed and endurance, but near-perfect is just a sugar-coated way of saying imperfect.

On any normal Reaping Day, I would be pacing myself instead, moving at a good jog but not straining myself. In District Two, we always have dozens of volunteers, and whoever makes it to the stage first wins. I can't afford to be tired from overexertion during the most important race of my life. I furrow my brows and let out a frustrated growl under my breath. Unfortunately, this _isn't_ a normal Reaping, and the annual race of potential tributes means nothing this year. With no volunteering, it won't matter how tired I am from my morning run.

I shake my head and force my legs to move faster. I don't have to worry about that, I'm sure. I have it taken care of, and I will be in this year's Games no matter what. After all, I am eighteen, and this is the last chance I have. I have been training for and excitedly anticipating this my whole life, or at least close enough to it, and I am ready. There is no way I am letting my life's work come undone because of a stupid Capitol rule, and I have already done everything to ensure that my name will be announced.

I smile as I picture the scene, crisp and clear in my mind. I'll be standing there impatiently with the rest of the eighteen-year-old boys, all of which will be shuffling from foot-to-foot nervously and sweating through their clothes. Then, our stupid Capitol escort with pull out the slip of paper and say my name, and then I'll walk up to the stage- no, _strut_ up to the stage, while everyone else yells in surprise as the district's Academy prodigy is Reaped, and then they will all look on in jealousy and awe as I stand on the stage, pride and confidence radiating off of me.

I break myself out of my fantasy just in time to dodge out of the way of a rock in my path. My fate may not be decided by a race today, but it still would not be any good to have a twisted ankle. I need to be in top shape when I enter the Games and do my district proud. And be a better victor than my mother. I frown at this last thought; my mother may have given me life, but she didn't give me much else. She is weak and frightened, apparently inevitably scarred by her Games 23 years ago. I clench my teeth as I recall all the times she has "warned" me, insisting that the Games are worse than I understand and that it will destroy me.

But just because she's weak doesn't mean I am! I am stronger than her, braver than her, _fiercer_ than her. She doesn't even like to squash a bug, for Cassius' sake! It's no wonder she was messed up from squashing kids, even though the fact that she could makes it pretty obvious that they weren't worthy anyway. At least her fame and riches are useful, though. It would be really frustrating to have a weak mother _and_ be poor!

My run carries me by the quarry nearest the city, and I look in abhorrence at the small shanty town set up there. In our district, the poor people that work in the rock quarries live in places like this, near their places of work. The better-off live in the city; merchants and craftsmen and Peacekeepers. Then, there are those like my mother and me; the rich, who live in Victor's Village just outside the City.

We are the elite, the best of the best. We are the most important citizens of District Two, the ones that make this district everything that it is. I smile, boiling over with pride at the thought. And soon, soon I will be another Victor making District Two worth existing. Then, I'll start my own training gym, as all proper victors do.

My mother never started the Antla Neptune Training Gym, as she had every right to do after winning the Fifty-Second Hunger Games, but I don't really hold that against her. She was trained by Cassius Spire, the first District Two victor _and_ the first Hunger Games victor. When he won, he started his gym and continued it well into his sixties. However, he knew he wasn't going to live forever (in fact, several of his fellow Victors from early years had already passed), and he wanted to ensure that his legacy would live on. Rumor is, he looked for years for the right candidate, and when my mother won, he knew she was it.

So, instead of building her a new gym, Cassius offered her his. It was a great honor, being hand-picked by the greatest person in all of Panem's history to take over after their death, and everyone wished it had been them. Naturally, my mother accepted. Cassius mentored her in the fine art of training victors, and in only a few short years she was running the Cassius Spire Training Gym by herself. She has single-handedly trained two of our seven victors since taking over, and all of the seventeen tributes she's sent into the Games have made it into the final eight.

Despite all that, she has never pressured me to train. It's definitely odd here in District Two, where even the poorest kids will put in at least a couple years of training before they start working in the quarries alongside their parents. I don't begrudge her that at all, though. In fact, I think it's better this way. _I_ motivated _myself_, and once I'm in the Arena my own motivation is all that there will be. I have pushed myself to my limits because _I_ wanted to, and that will make me better than every other potential in all the districts.

I ponder the thought while I direct my route back towards the city. Maybe that's why my mother is as terrible a victor as she is. I know that she trained and entered the Games because my grandparents pushed her to, even resorting to threatening to kick her out if she didn't participate in the race. I have seen the tapes of her Games, and I saw the look on her face as she stood on the stage at the Reaping; she was surprised. I don't think she expected to actually make it to the platform first.

She went on to win as any Neptune should, but she never was quite right after that. As I think back on the other Victors I've seen, I think that that is the common thread between them. The ones like me, eager and strong and willing, we come out from the Games better. The ones unwilling to volunteer (or even Reaped) that manage to win usually come out more unstable, like my mother with her panic attacks and bouts of depression. I shake my head sadly. I love my mother, but she really is pathetic as a Victor. She had no place in the Games at all, let alone winning.

At least she has redeemed herself with me. Or, at least she will after this year. I draw near the outskirts of the city, passing by several small groups of children who are out doing the same thing I am. Most gyms require their students to have daily runs, but they do tend to stagger them throughout the day to try to keep the entire district from being overwhelmed with children all at once. They also tend to have them go at more inconvenient times, either really early or during the hottest or coldest times, to try and instill discipline.

I, personally, prefer to run twice a day; once early in the morning, before the sun has risen, and once in the evening before heading to bed.

By the time I reach my mother's gym, my lungs are burning and I am gasping for oxygen. I slip in the door and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge she always keeps stocked with our workout essentials; water, energy bars, and protein shakes. After downing half the bottle, I take an energy bar and tear into it while I make my way over to one of the many weapons racks lining the wall. Selecting a machete from a blade rack, I quickly finish the rest of my water before heading over to the section of gym where dozens of dummies are set up, waiting for me to dismember them.

After all, the Reapings are in only four hours, and the Games are in only one week, and I can't afford any weakness. I must be prepared, even if (and I smirk at the thought) I'm going to be the only well-trained tribute there.

* * *

**Demtria Ragbone, District 2**

The sounds of yells and a crash wake me and I jump out of bed, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Skye! Skye, you're dreaming, wake up!" A male voice yells, and through my half-asleep delirium I am able to recognize it as Ayden Bunker's, the twelve-year-old that follows me and my friends around like a stalker puppy. I rub my eyes and look toward the source of the noise: my best friend in the world's bed, where she has apparently fallen to the floor in the midst of a nightmare, and Ayden is now shaking her while yelling. He means well, really he does!

I promptly head over, putting a hand on his shoulder to pull him back and crouching down next to Skye, rubbing her back gently as she whimpers and speaking in a soft voice. "Skye, it's all right. It's just a dream, it's not real. Wake up now." I brush her light brown bangs from her eyes as she cracks them open.

"D-Demi?" She looks up at me, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I… it was us! We were Reaped!" She lets out a choked sob and I stare at her for a moment before rolling my eyes.

"How is that supposed to work, Skye? We're both girls, and only one girl gets Reaped." I wipe the tears from her eyes where they have begun to leak out. "We're going to be fine." Skye bites her lip as she sits up and wipes her eyes herself.

"I don't know, Demi." She starts hesitantly. "I mean, we have a better chance that anyone else, right? With all our entries, I mean…" she trails off and looks down at her hands, obviously just trying _not_ to look at me. I rush to comfort her, of course, tell her that there are plenty of kids with odds just as bad or worse than ours. I don't believe it myself, though. How could I? Growing up in the Schuyler Group Home has ensured that. There are a lot of kids here, orphans and kids whose parents couldn't afford them or just plain didn't want them. We all have to take tesserae for ourselves once we turn twelve, unless we don't plan on eating. But we are also required to take enough tesserae for the younger kids to eat, too.

Skye and I have both been taking out five tesserae for six of our seventeen years of life; our names will each be in the Reaping Bowl thirty-six times. I have never cared before, nor has anyone else in the Group Home or the caretakers that run it. In District Two, Reapings really mean nothing. No one who gets Reaped actually goes into the Games, since there are dozens of volunteers each year. Half the time we don't even hear the kid's name over the torrent of eager young warriors charging the stage. This year, though, there will be no wave of saviors if one of us gets Reaped.

I shake my head as if that will shake the negative thoughts away; there's no point dwelling on it. Besides, I wasn't _completely_ lying to Skye, there really _are_ kids with worse odds than us. Mainly the eighteen-year-olds in the Group Home that have their names in forty-two times.

"Okay," Skye concedes after some thought. "Okay, maybe that's true. But then there's twelve-year-olds with their names in once that get picked every year. If they can get picked, we can get picked." She crosses her arms, her intense hazel eyes almost daring me to challenge her. Naturally, I just roll my own eyes and stand, offering my hand to help pull her up.

"No matter what, Skye, _we_ will not be going in. At least one of us is guaranteed to be safe. And even if one of us does get Reaped, it's not like we're helpless outlier district kids; we know how to fight." Another rule in Schuyler Group Home is that we have to begin training once we turn five, the youngest age most of the Training Gyms will accept. They want us to be ready to go into the Games and earn some money, but mostly to get us out of their hair for several hours a day while we train.

Skye opens her mouth as if to protest while she takes my hand, hauling herself to her feet by it, but then she closes it and nods, apparently unable to come up with another point to scare herself with. She nods, then smiles a little. "You're right. We're better off than anyone else that'll get Reaped, aren't we?" She chuckles as she begins to make her bed, per Schuyler Group Home regulation. "I bet all the serious trainees are kicking themselves for not taking out five tesserae a year, now!"

Ayden, who has been silently watching us while shifting from one foot to the other and running a hand nervously through his eternally-messy blonde hair thus far (he isn't very good with tears and girl emotions, he always tells us), pipes up now. "I bet they're going to start from now on! Just in case this happens again!" I shake my head at him.

"I doubt it, Ayd. The next Quell isn't gonna happen for twenty-five years, and that's the only time this could happen." His face falls a little, and I can't help but try to make him feel better; he is our puppy, after all. "But you're right, I'm sure they will when it gets closer." He brightens immediately, as always exhilarated to have any approval from me. I head over to my own bed to make it and notice that it's only just getting light outside, turning to him and frowning, crossing my arms. "And what exactly are you doing in here anyway, Ayden? You know the rules."

Ayden looks down at his feet abashedly and scuffs the toes of his scruffy dress shoes on the floor lightly. "I know… but I couldn't sleep, and I just wanted to, you know, talk to you. But then Skye started yelling and fell out of bed, and I had to help her, and…" he keeps rambling for a bit, and I just let him. Like a lot of Schuyler kids this year, he obviously had some bad dreams, so I completely understand his breaking the rules this time. Not that I care anyway; the rule states that boys are only allowed in girls' dorms (and vice versa) during daytime hours, but honestly! He's twelve, and we're seventeen; what do they think he's going to do?

Finally, after he keeps talking the whole time I'm fixing my bed and picking out my clothes for the day, I take pity on him and interrupt him. "It's all right, Ayd. We're not upset, and we're certainly not going to snitch." He falls silent and smiles gratefully. "You are going to have to step out, though, because we need to get dressed." Being naked with a boy in the room, no matter how young, is not a rule I'm willing to break no matter what. His normally fair cheeks turn bright red as he nods emphatically and steps outside, shutting the door behind him. I sigh and quickly change, noting Skye and a few other girls doing the same now that our puppy has left.

I allow myself a small smile as I quickly throw on my clothes. Ayden is a sweet kid, and everyone here loves the innocent twelve-year-old. My smile darkens, though, when I remember that he _is_ twelve now, and that innocent little kid could very well be going to his death this year. I hope, at the very least, it isn't him.

* * *

**Ayden Bunker, District 2**

I lean against the wall outside the seventeen-year-old girls' room, idly playing with the hem of my off-white (I've been told it used to be white-white) dress shirt. I know it's supposed to be tucked in, but I _hate_ the feel of a tucked-in shirt. I have plenty of time before the Reapings, and I can tuck it in real quick on the way over in a couple of hours, right? I sigh and kick at the floor softly.

I don't wanna go! What if they call my name? I really don't want to be in the Games. At least not yet. I know I'll have to try, once I turn fourteen; Schuyler Group Home makes us try to get in the Games once we're "old enough", but that's not for two more years! And I don't think I'll want to even then. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I _really_ don't want to kill anyone! I sigh again, trying to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

"It's not fair…"

"Nothing's fair, Ayd." I jump at the sudden voice to my right and look to see Demi and Skye standing fully-dressed in the doorway to their room, Demi now dressed in her Reaping Day jeans and white blouse, her dark curls pulled back into a messy ponytail, and Skye wearing a sift blue knee-length dress with her own light brown hair braided. Skye promptly pulls me into a hug, and I find myself hating that I'm so small that I don't even go up to her chest. If I get Reaped, I won't stand a chance if even the girls are all bigger than me! I cling to Skye tightly, as if she can actually protect me from the Reapings. Demi puts a hand on my shoulder and speaks softly.

"Don't worry too much, Ayden. Your name is in there six times, yes, but there are so many boys with more, and so many boys who went out and _took_ so many more this year to try to get picked. So, your name is really only in a few times out of thousands and thousands."

"Primrose Everdeen's was only in once, last year. She said so when they talked to Katniss's family, remember? She got picked!" I'm starting to make myself hysterical, tears running down my cheeks, but I don't really care. I don't want to die!

Skye releases me from her hug and instead kneels down, a little more eye-level with me now. "I know. We aren't going to lie to you, you _could_ get picked, but you probably won't." She wipes at the tears on my face. "And if you do, you'll be fine. Everyone loves you, you know." She smiles that amazingly sweet smile of hers. "You'll have so many sponsors, your mentors won't know what to do with all that money! And you can fight, you're really good with those quarterstaffs, right?"

I sniff and nod. I am the best in my class with staff-weapons, after all. Fighting with a staff isn't like fighting with a sword; you can't just wave it around and expect someone to die. It takes… _finesse_, that's what my teacher Hortensia calls it. I don't know, I guess I just like the complexity. I can get lost in it, forget where I am for a while.

At my nod, Demi chimes in. "You even took out those older boys, remember? You would have this easily." I smile at the memory, when two fifteen-year-olds from our Gym thought they'd pick on the little kid, so I grabbed my quarterstaff and dared them to insult me again. Of course, they didn't think for one second that I could take them, so they charged me with their swords. With only a few deft moves, I had them both disarmed and lying on the ground, one dizzy from a blow to the head and one clutching his testicular region for all he was worth.

I chuckle at the memory, allowing it to wipe away my fear. "You're right." I roll my eyes a little. "As always, huh?" I wipe my eyes and give them both a cheery smile, even though I don't totally one-hundred percent feel it. I think Demi can tell, though, because she takes my hand and starts pulling me down the hallway toward the stairs.

"Come on, I bet we can find us some good matches to watch before the Reapings begin." Skye bounds behind us, running briefly to catch up, and we all head downstairs together. We have to stop at Mrs. Hardwick's front desk and pass inspection (Mrs. Hardwick runs the group home, and she won't stand for any of us Schuyler kids embarrassing her at the Reapings by looking like slobs). After fussing over my un-tucked shirt for a few minutes, Demi and Skye convince her that they'll make sure I tuck it in before the cameras arrive, and she lets us go.

Naturally, we run as fast as we can to get away from the troll.

* * *

**Oph Neptune, District 2**

Once I have savagely destroy all the dummies, then set them up again to do the same with a dozen other weapons, I finally decide it's time to call it a day. After all, I'll have all week to prepare for the Games, and I'm going to be the only real threat there anyway. I head to the showers just as other trainees start trickling in. The lazy bastards couldn't even be bothered to show up at a decent pre-dawn hour to train on the day of the Reapings!

I shake my head as I clean the sweat and grime from my body. None of them are worthy of being Tributes, not with those attitudes. _I_ am. I scrub furiously at my skin, glowering at the tile walls. I know my name is going to be called, but that doesn't stop the anger. None of them had better get picked. Even that Cato kid from last year who had had so much promise was ultimately an embarrassment to District Two. I am clearly the _only_ one that can bring glory to our district!

I force myself from my bitter thought and rinse the soap from my body before quickly drying off and throwing on a spare pair of clean shorts and a shirt. I glance at my watch as I head out the door. I have just enough time to get home, dress, eat breakfast, and get to the square. Nodding briefly, I set out at a brisk jog that won't even make me break into a sweat and arrive at my home in Victor's Village in only a couple of minutes.

I walk in the door, yelling to my mother to start my breakfast as I run up the stairs to my room. I have already laid my Reaping clothes out and it doesn't take much time to slip into the simple gray pants and black shirt. I run a brush through my hair, carefully styling it, and look at myself in my full-length mirror. I take in my strong jawline and high cheekbones, my tanned skin, my ash-blonde hair. Sure, my nose is a bit more crooked than I'd like, and my eyes a bit more deep-set and squinted, but really I look every inch a proper Tribute from District Two.

I practice smiling a bit, ranging from a genuine smile to cocky to menacing. I conclude that cocky works best, but I'll probably get farther using mostly an intimidating glower. I practice that for a little while as well, then give my reflection a satisfied nod. I am ready for this.

I turn to leave, but a flash of gold on my desk catches my attention. Hesitantly, I pick up the ancient Roman coin that was the source, holding the cold metal in my suddenly-clammy hand. A keepsake, from a friend.

_The Seventy-Third Hunger Games plays on the television, the morning of the fourth day. I sit at the edge of my seat, enthralled. Chrim was doing so well! I've been telling everybody, "That's my buddy! My best friend, Chrim! He's gonna win, then me and Kiwan are gonna win, and we're all going to have huge parties at our houses in Victor's Village!" I've been saying that since he volunteered, and I grew even more proud with my words after he did so well in the Bloodbath. Four deaths from him alone, and he didn't even get a scratch from it! _

_And when he killed the girl from Seven yesterday, this little thirteen-year-old that just kept glaring at him defiantly, refusing to even run? He didn't back down, he didn't hesitate! Oh, he was amazing, decapitating her with one blow from his dual-swords! I let out a cheer. _

_Then… then everything went wrong…_

I shake my head, forcing the memory and the tears that come with it to retreat back into the recesses of my mind. I clench my hand around the coin, Chrim's coin. Then, I drop it back onto the desk and turn and walk out.

I hurry downstairs and grab the breakfast my mother has made me; she knows me well enough to make me something portable: bacon and eggs and cheese between toasted bread, my favorite sandwich. I kiss her on her cheek absently as I grab it and head out the door. I've taken more time than I intended, and now I have to hurry to get to the square. I can't be late on my special day!

I wolf down my breakfast as I go and I arrive just as I finish the last bite. Perfect. I head over to check in and take my place in front of the stage, with the nervous-looking eighteen-year-olds. They should be nervous, I tell myself mostly in an attempt to keep my mind of Chrim. After all, they're not going to end up in the Hunger Games this year.

* * *

**Skye Schuyler, District 2**

Ayden had obviously still been upset, so Demi and I distracted him with the Reaping Day matches. While the workers were busy getting the stage ready, eager young trainees entertained themselves and the crowd, facing off against each other in a roped-off section on the other side of the Square. They were quick matches, one round each, and some of the Gym leaders acted as judges every year.

I never had much interest in the fights myself; we fight in training every day, what's so special about this one? So, while Ayden and the other onlookers cheered and booed the contestants, I allowed my attention to wander over the crowd. People-watching is so much more fun.

Most of the younger kids, the ones who aren't yet eligible for the Games, are wearing their Gym's colors around their arms or wrists or necks. They're going to have a lot of fun causing trouble for the older trainees in the weeks to come (hopefully myself included). It's something we do every year, a big game that lasts as long as the Hunger Games. Each gym splits their eligible-aged students into groups of seven or eight, the average size of the Alliance in the Games, led by an older Captain and an opposite-sexed Lieutenant. Then, everyone competes in matches and competitions, and at the end of the Hunger Games, the points are added up for each gym and the winning gym gets the year engraved on their statue in the Square (each Victor has a statue, after all, and each Gym has a Victor founder). It's this huge honor, and they get all the bragging rights and extra funding and host the Victor's Feast and all sorts of other things.

I think the whole thing is silly, but I guess I'm just the oddball in District Two. And of course I'm an oddball, my parents named me _Skye Schuyler_. Imagine the teasings I've endured for that one! Anyway, before leaving for the Capitol, the leaders of each gym choose who will make up each team, (along with a backup Captain and Lieutenant for each, in case they get into the Games), and after the Tributes and the cameras leave, the assistant leaders of each gym gets up and announces the teams, giving everyone their colors (each gym has colors, like a banner, and they'll put everyone's team number on the banners for them to wear).

After that, it's up to the Captains of each team to decide what to do for the next few weeks. It's an exercise to get them ready in case they get in the Games next year, because once we're in the Games you can't rely on your mentors and trainers to make your decisions anymore. District Two is always in charge of the Alliance because, unlike the prissy District One tributes, we actually learn leadership and tactics, not just looking pretty. These games get our tributes ready for that responsibility.

Each team has a flag, and getting your flag captured loses you points. Capturing another team's flag gains you points. Then there's the challenges set up during the day and night, smaller competitions that can earn you points as well. The Captains decide who goes to each competition, who guards the flag when, and everything else. School is always cancelled for these weeks, of course.

The only time it's not allowed to steal a flag is during the end-of-day ceremony. Everyone gathers in the square to watch the day's Hunger Game's highlights, then the scores are tallied up and whichever team earned the least points that day has to have an elimination match; the whole team gets up in front of everyone and has a massive free-for-all battle. Whoever gets a "fatal injury" first is out, and is considered "dead" for the rest of the games. They no longer participate in the challenges, they have to wear these long black cloaks and white face makeup, and no one "alive" is allowed to talk to the "dead" kids.

I always do my best to "die" early on so I don't have to do the stupid games.

The younger kids represent the outer districts, the one's that aren't in the Alliance, and they get to do whatever they want. They can team up with a few of their friends, they can steal everyone's flags, they can participate in the challenges (though they're younger and inexperienced, so really they just make it more annoying than difficult to win the challenges). Ayden always had fun doing this, since he's small enough he's been pretty good and sneaking in and stealing flags. This is going to be his first year in an actual team, and if the Captain knows what's good for him, he'll send him out to steal all the flags at all times.

If he's still here…

Getting a Tribute in the Games earns your gym an automatic one-hundred points, and winning gets five-hundred. But I think I'd much rather have Ayden earn points the old-fashioned way than really fighting for his life. I look at him worriedly, glad that his attention is on the current match and not on my overly-agonized features. The Games would destroy Ayden.

Demi nudges me with her elbow and offers me a comforting smile when I look at her. She knows I'm worried about Ayden, and about myself (oh, Cassius! What if Ayden and I _both_ get Reaped! I can't kill Ayden!). I know Demi doesn't show it to the rest of the world so much, but she really is a sweet, caring person. Even if usually she acts like a cold, distant ice queen.

I smile back at her, even though I know neither of us believes the smile. Really, we're just being strong for Ayden's sake. Or, at least, I am.

I really, really hope none of us is Reaped.

* * *

**Ayden Bunker, District 2**

After only an hour of watching the matches, it's time for the Reaping to begin and all my nerves come rushing back at me. I almost forget to tuck my shirt in, I'm so distracted. I don't want to die! I take steady calming breaths as Demi and Skye usher me towards the lines to check in. It's a simple process, really. I give the Peacekeeper my name and age, they check it against a list on an electronic pad, then direct me to the twelve-year-old section near the back of the square. Nothing to sweat over.

But Demi and Skye have to leave me now to go to the seventeen-year-old section, all the way near the front of our giant City Square, and I'm back to thinking how it just isn't fair. Why can't I stand with my friends? It's not like it's going to make me any harder to find if my name is called; everyone's gonna stare at me anyway, right?

I sigh and fidget with the buttons on my shirt (and I find that one is missing. How did I miss that when I put it on?). It's not too much longer now, I keep telling myself. I swear it's slower this year than any other year, though! It's probably because I'm actually in it now, though.

Finally, after what I'm certain is hours and hours of uncomfortable waiting, our mayor takes to the microphone and starts his speech. I pay very close attention, even though it's been the same every year and there's no reason to think that it'll change this year. But I'm so scared, and it gives me something to focus on. He talks about the forming of Panem, and he talks about the Rebellion and the Dark Days, and he talks about the Capitol's victory and the Glory of the Hunger Games.

Then, he announces proudly that it's time to introduce our victors. He calls them one-by-one, as he does every year, and I cheer along with everyone else just to keep my mind busy. Hortensia, Brutus, Antla, Seraphina, Enobaria, and so many more. There are all too many names for me to keep track of, and I always do terrible at this subject in school. I mix their names up and make up new ones (but they're always close!), so I figure I might want to pay attention now and maybe then I can remember them better.

Finally, after much whooping and stomping and clapping that is starting to make my head ring, the mayor raises his hands in a "silence" motion and we quiet down. Once he's satisfied that we're not going to continue yelling, he introduces Lucretia Underford, the same shrill-voiced bouncy escort we've had for seven years now.

She practically springs up to take her place at the podium, her giant curly golden wig swaying so that I think this year it'll finally fall off in front of all of Panem. It doesn't though, as she brings a silver-painted hand up to steady it. He entire body is painted silver, or maybe it's dyed, and she sparkles in the sun as if she were coated in the actual metal. Her suit is a shiny gold, and I wonder if she's wearing real gold or if it's just some Capitol trickery that makes it seem that way. And how can she walk in those giant heels (also gold!), let alone prance around like she does?

I realize with a start that while I've been critiquing her dubious Capitol fashion choices, she's been talking this whole time. I haven't been paying attention! What if she already drew the name? What if it was me, and I didn't even notice!

I look around frantically and notice that everyone else looks bored or anxious, not curiously looking around for a new Tribute, and I let out a sigh of relief. I need to stop working myself up like this! Quickly, I force myself to tune in to what she's saying.

* * *

**Lucretia Underford, Capitol Escort**

Standing in front of all these lovely children is the highlight of my year! Except, of course, for when one of these lovely children _wins_, then the crowning ceremony is the highlight of my year! And District Two does provide me with a lot of these highlights. My district brings home more Victors than any other, a fact that I like to brag about every chance I get (especially to Althea Rose, that perky bimbo for District One). In fact, they had to _expand_ their Victor's Village several years back, because there were too many Victors and not enough houses! Oh, I was just so excited when I was assigned to District Two!

Even if they are a bunch of barbarians! I mean, really, they don't even wait until the proper time to volunteer, like the _civilised _people in District One (don't tell Althea!), and half the time the little mongrels are running up to the stage before I can finish my sentence. Didn't their mothers ever teach them that interrupting is rude? Brutes!

Don't get me wrong, of course, I am so very _honoured_ to be District Two's escort (which I am telling them all right now) and I would certainly never wish to leave them (unless Althea Rose would have a big fat heart attack and die already and I could be promoted, of course). Even if they do shove and push each other to get to the stage first like a pack of boorish ruffians. At least I won't have to deal with _that_ bestial behaviour this year!

I notice everyone is starting to space off (while _I_ am talking about how _wonderful_ they are, no less!), so I quickly wrap up my speech and move on to the most important part of my job: the Reaping!

"Now, let's see what brave young gentleman will represent your wonderful district this year!" You see, how much I complement them? And they all have the nerve to act anything other than admiring toward me! They even look scared and nervous. This is supposed to be the best district (until Althea's fat heart gives out), and they should not look so inferior!

Of course, I am quite nervous myself as I approach the large bowl with all the boys' names. But, I am a _professional_, and I will power through it! Because unlike these uncivilised monsters, I have _manners_. I pull the piece of paper from the bowl and move back to the podium, carefully unfolding it whilst I force my hands not to shake (silly hands, you'd think that I wasn't entirely used to this. I do this all the time! This is no different, I say!). I read the name carefully, swallowing slightly.

_Ayden Bunker._

Entirely _not_ the name I was hoping for. But I must push on! I cannot let a silly little name on a slip of paper ruin everything, after all!

"Oph Neptune." I say in a steady voice before quickly shoving the offending paper into my pocket, where no one can see it. Because this is a perfectly normal Reaping, and there is nothing for anyone to see!

I allow myself a glance behind me at Antla Neptune, the woman who insisted just three hours ago that if her son's name is not called, I shall experience the worst pain of my life. She even twisted my arm! District Two is so rude! I hope Althea Rose has a stroke soon, and I can get out of here!

* * *

**Ayden Bunker, District 2**

It wasn't my name! The most wonderful thing in the world, the most wonderful name ever! I think I'm going to name all my children Oph Neptune! I smile, tears of relief and joy springing to my eyes. Demi and Skye were right, after all! It wasn't my name!

* * *

**Demetria Ragbone, District 2**

I let out an unconscious sigh of relief as the wiry teen makes his way up to the stage. I had been so worried about Ayden, and it's good to know he's safe. I study Oph Neptune, who looks a little too self-satisfied right now. He must have been dying to enter the Games this year.

Of course! He's Antla Neptune's son, the Victor of the Fifty-Second Hunger Games! He's one of the toughest trainees in his gym, in the toughest gym in the district. Well, good on him, then. Maybe we'll have a real Victor this year, after all. Once he's up on the stage, and glowering at everyone while looking menacing, Lucretia claps her hands excitedly.

"Well! Isn't this a wonderful specimen! We will have ourselves a good Tribute this year, won't we!" Cassius, she's so perky it hurts sometimes. "Righty-ho, then, on to the ladies! Let's find out which one of you lovely darlings is going to stand beside this dashing young man!" And with that, she plunges her hand into the second bowl, fishing it around for a moment before pulling out a single slip of paper.

It's hard to believe that tiny, insignificant piece of paper is going to seal someone's fate. She unfolds it carefully and reads it out in a crisp, clear voice.

* * *

**Skye Schuyler, District 2**

Please don't be me, please don't be me, please don't be me.

"Demetria Ragbone."

It's not me! I almost laugh with relief before the words sink in and I look at Demi, horrified.

"D-Demi…" I can barely choke the words out. My best friend is going to go into the Hunger Games? But she doesn't want to! Why can't one of the other girls volunteer! They're all looking at her with such envy anyway, what harm could it really do?

"It's fine, Skye. I've got this." She seems so calm and collected, and it's just not fair because I know I would be sobbing if it were me. I'm almost sobbing, and it's _not_ me! She walks calmly up to the stage, head held high and refusing to make eye contact with any of the jealous girls. As she mounts the steps gracefully, I notice sobbing behind me in the crowd. I turn around to see poor little Ayden bawling his eyes out. He was right, after all; it's not fair.

Lucretia has Demi and Oph shake hands, then the anthem plays before they are ushered into the Justice Building. Without wasting a moment, I rush forward to join them and say goodbye to my best friend, possibly forever.

* * *

**Oph Neptune, District 2**

My mother is the first one in, of course. I stand from the plush armchair and accept her embrace, even though I don't need the comforting. She does, though, and weak as she is, she's still my mother.

"Oph, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Don't." I promptly interrupt her and pull back to look her in the eye. "This is exactly what I wanted, remember?" I smile a little and I swear I can almost see the memory bouncing in her head. "You don't have any reason to worry, anyway. I've told you before, I am going to win this." I kiss her forehead. "All right?"

"All… All right, Oph. Just… be careful, for me?" She looks at me with her big, pleading eyes, and I sigh and nod, despite knowing that there is no _careful_ in the Hunger Games. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, though. A relieved smile stretches across her face and she hugs me again, then jumps back. "Oh! Oph, you left this in your room. Isn't it your token?"

She's holding out Chrim's Roman coin.

_Then… then everything went wrong…_

_He went back to the camp, bragging about his sixth kill, and it seemed everything was fine. But night fell, and he didn't sleep, just sat and stared into the flames of their campfire, growing quieter and more solemn. I remember staying up later than I planned to, watching the shadows play across my friend's face. What was wrong with him? He didn't even touch the fish the boy from Four had caught and cooked up for them all. He didn't do anything else, though, just stared. So, finally, I went to bed. He must have just been deep in thought, planning his next moves._

_When I woke up this morning and turned on the television, though, he was on the screen again, and it was clear he hadn't slept at all. Dark circles were under his bloodshot eyes, and his lips kept moving as if he was mumbling, but the cameras weren't picking up any sound. The rest of the Alliance were all looking at him, staring at him, sidelong. They seemed… unnerved. Since when did we get unnerved? We're the professionals, the ones that prepare for this. We fear nothing!_

_Nothing but Chrim, apparently. Chrim and his scary haunted eyes, and his hands clutching his blades so tight they were ghost-white._

_And then he stood, and I thought, "Good! You get up, Chrim! Go hunt some Tributes, that'll snap you out of it!" Obviously, my friend was just homesick, and there's no way to get home faster than killing Tributes!_

_The others didn't agree, though, and they all tensed, clutching their own weapons tighter. What was going on? Being only a few days in, it was far too soon for the Alliance to break up! Why is everyone acting so… wrong? _

_I think everyone in all of Panem is watching, now, bated breath. Which is ridiculous, because that would mean something is going to happen, and all that's going to happen is that Chrim is going to go and kill some worthless Tributes and come home to me, and we're going to live it up in his new house next to my mother's._

_Chrim looked at the others, and his face didn't show any of the cheer and laid-back arrogance I was used to. Just a blank, hollow… emptiness._

_"We're all… monsters." What? Why would Chrim say that? We're not monsters, we're _Victors_! "I am covered in blood… covered… and it won't wash off! I cleaned it, but it's still there! We're all covered in blood!" He was growing agitated now, hysterically pacing back and forth, gesturing emphatically with his swords. Spittle was forming in the corners of his mouth, flying out as his voice rose to a yell. "I must cleanse us all! We are all… dirty! Sick! TAINTED!"_

_The others are shifting nervously, clearly debating between backing away and raising their weapons to fight him. Then… then he really snaps. He points at Nicola, his own district partner, with his left-hand blade. "YOU! You are…! I can see the dead clinging to you! Ghosts! They're trying to drag you with them! They're taking you, they're taking you, they're taking you!" He is pacing back and forth rapidly, only taking two steps in either direction. My hands are shaking and I'm clinging to my seat, as if it is the only thing holding me to this plane of existence. Why is Chrim acting like this? He's so calm and collected, so _sane_. He's not a ranting lunatic!_

_"ABOMINATION!" Chrim is screaming at her now, and he must have bit his tongue at some point during his raving because the spittle that flies from his mouth is shot through with red. "I WILL END YOU, YOU CREATURE OF DARKNESS!" And then he's flying at her, screaming unintelligible curses. _

_The others respond immediately, they've been expecting this all morning. Nicola throws herself out of the way; she's seen him train, she knows how deadly he is with those twin blades. Boy-from-Four goes after him with his trident while Girl-from-One comes at him from the other side with her halberd. I know they're going to be useless, because Chrim is the best at taking down multiple combatants with his blades. He's never been bested!_

_But he slashes wildly at them, not really paying attention and focusing entirely on Nicola. He knocks the halberd aside, a little, but the trident… the trident goes right through his defences, and right into the side of his chest. He's gasping, wheezing, coughing up blood… and all the while still slashing maniacally, trying to get to Nicola. Boy-from-Four uses his trident, leveraging from above to force Chrim to the ground, stabbing the tines through him and pinning him to the hard earth._

_Girl-from-Four approaches, spear in hand. She hefts it up, preparing to throw it. No one wants to get near Chrim and his flailing blades. He tries throwing one at Nicola, but it falls short, flopping to the ground several feet in front of him._

_Girl-from-Four throws her spear._

_Chrim screams profanities at Nicola._

_Girl-from-Four's spear impales Chrim's neck._

_I stare in shock as he gurgles, still trying to scream through the blood and gore and… and the giant _spear_ through his body! His movements lessen, though, and the wild eyes grow dark. The blood stops flowing._

_For the first time ever, I cry watching the Hunger Games._

I shake my head and push her hand away, almost knocking the coin out of it. His token didn't do him any good, and I don't need that connection to his disastrous end in _my_ Games.

"No. I don't need a token. I can be my own token." I won't end up like Chrim. My mother nods and pockets the coin, then kisses me on my cheek.

"I have to go and get on the train now, sweetie. I'll see you soon." She smiles and leaves the room, and I find myself wondering why she came to say goodbye anyway. I don't have long to ponder it, though, when a burly young man steps cautiously into the room.

"Kiwan." My old friend. We used to hang out and train all the time together, just him and Chrim and me. After Chrim, though, Kiwan decided he was done with the Games. Quit training, refused to volunteer for the Seventy-Fourth Games, and ultimately, we stopped spending any time together. It's not like we hate each other or anything. We still like each other, even. We just…

"Oph." His oddly formal tone and stiff posture says it all. We just grew apart. "I… well," he clears his throat, looking to buy time to think of what to say to his former friend. "Good luck."

I nod. "Thanks."

We stand there awkwardly for a moment before I finally break the silence. "Kiwan, if…" I swallow, my throat suddenly dry even though I always stay hydrated. "If I… you know… lose it…" He looks up at me suddenly, shock covering his features. "If I lose it, like Chrim, would you… take care of my mother? She'd never recover from seeing that." Kiwan nods, then pulls me into a brief hug.

"You… can do this, Oph. I have faith in you. But if you can't… yes, I will take care of your mother."

We stand like that until the Peacekeepers come to take me away.

* * *

**Demetria Ragbone**

As I expected, the first one in is Skye, and she's quickly followed by a sobbing Ayden. I pull them both into a hug and allow them to just cry. I don't allow myself the luxury, though, because I know the cameras in the train station are waiting to catch any moment of weakness and broadcast it all across Panem. After a minute, though, I pull back and sit down, making them sit on either side of me on the small couch.

"Don't cry, all right? I'm going to be fine. I've trained for this, and I'm good enough." I know that no matter what I say, Ayden won't be comforted in the least, but I plow on anyway. "I'm fast, and fierce, and I bet I could rival Katniss Everdeen with a bow and arrow." That got a smile from them, even if just a small one. I ruffle Ayden's messy blonde hair. "I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

"O-okay…" he sniffles and I pull my puppy into another hug, whispering promises to return safe and sound into his hair.

"Demi…" I look at Skye, who is biting her lip. "I… know it won't be of much help… but I'm rooting for you, okay? The whole way, I'll be there for you." She takes in a ragged breath. "And I'll make sure Ayden's all right all the time." That makes me smile.

"Good. I'll kick your ass when I get back if I find you've let him mope around the whole time." And that makes them smile. "Ayden, I want you to have fun these next few weeks, okay? Play the games; it's your first time being on a team, and if you prove yourself now they're all gonna want you next year." He nods emphatically. "I… I love you guys."

Then the Peacekeepers open the door and usher us out. It's time to go face the cameras, and I put on the bravest face I have.

* * *

**Skye Schuyler, District 2**

The Peacekeepers take Demi and Oph away, and Ayden and I trail behind them until they get to the car. After a few minutes to collect myself, I focus my attention on the big screens in the Square, which are currently showing my best friend and her new enemy-ally pushing their way through the crowd of cameramen at the train station. Oph is doing a wonderful job of looking intimidating, and even the cameras shrink back from his glare. Demi looks so calm and cool, like none of this means anything. I'm proud of her, but I'm still so scared.

Ayden is crying again, though not so loud this time, just sniffles. I put an arm around his shoulder and pull him close.

"It's gonna be all right, Ayd. We're all gonna be fine."

As sick as it is, I find myself grateful once again that, at the very least, it's not me.

* * *

_A/N: whew! That was a long one! At least, it felt like it. Sorry it took me so long to get it up, life is very mean and doesn't want me to write nearly as much as I want to!_

_Big thanks to "the name is Florine" and "LeviAntonius" for these ones! Hopefully I did them justice..._

_Anyway, review please! I can't improve if I don't get feedback! Also, still accepting Tributes for the following districts (I need some younger ones too!):_

**************************************************************__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****__****_Tributes available: _************************D7 **_****__****__****__****__****__****__and D10 Males. _**************************************************I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.**


End file.
